


Lying Upside Down

by rhythmickorbit



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Admiration, Ambiguity, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Emotional Manipulation, Emotions, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Kings & Queens, Knights - Freeform, Moral Ambiguity, Not Beta Read, Or Is It?, Unrequited Love, but only hints of it, giving characters happiness? not in this house, it can be taken any which way rly, other ships are implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24258526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmickorbit/pseuds/rhythmickorbit
Summary: Dryya is utterly devoted to her Lady, to her Queen - perhaps more than is proper. She will serve her forevermore, past the loves and losses of her fellow Knights, past the dangers of the Wastes and Canyons. In the end, what she wishes is ensured.
Relationships: Dryya & Hegemol & Isma & Ogrim | Dung Defender & Ze'mer | Grey Mourner, Dryya & White Lady (Hollow Knight), Dryya/White Lady (Hollow Knight), The Pale King/White Lady (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Lying Upside Down

Beautiful round eyes, roots that glistened in the gleaming of the White Palace, a crown of tendrils extending like a crown from her head, only accentuating her grace, her power. Yes, the White Lady was someone to behold—someone Dryya could only admire out of the corner of her eye as she stood stark-still beside the Pale King, her nail at her side, her shoulders back, her shell tight. Always, she stood guard. Always, she hardened herself, allowed nothing to quite touch her.

But this—this had seeped into her shell, like only the bond with her fellow knights had. It was soft, tempting, _maddening._

Dryya knew it would be best to forget it, to forget how tempting it would have been to give in and let herself be held by her Lady’s roots, to caress her Lady’s face, and—

No. Dryya’s resolve only crystallized the more she thought about it. To betray the Pale King, his union—it was unthinkable. And yet—Dryya couldn’t help _but_ think about it, couldn’t help but _dream_ about it.

Ze’mer knew—but then, she knew almost everything about her fellows, it seemed, even more so than Dryya herself. She was in a forbidden relationship herself, though nothing of the caliber Dryya desired. Her mantis lover was delightful, and it was equally delightful to tease Ze’mer, to guard her on her journeys to the Fungal Wastes when her mind was so giddy.

Hegemol certainly knew—but he himself was so quiet and armored, he never said a word. He understood, though Dryya suspected that understanding was more intimate than she truly knew. She held him when he broke down in his chambers; let him cry in peace, something he could never do amongst the bugs that revered the Knights so.

Ogrim and Isma, well—they had a special relationship of their own, but Dryya caught the knowing glances they shared whenever she paused too long in the presence of their queen.

Her Knights—her _family_ were all aware of her forbidden devotion, but not the deepest extent of it. That Dryya kept hidden, closely and tightly to her very core.

That is, until Ze’mer’s mantis disappeared. Until Ogrim and Isma were simply, suddenly-- gone. Until Hegemol’s humor dissipated until there was nothing left but a shell where his laugh had been. Until, even though the Infection should have been dissolved, should have been a fair exchange for the sacrifices made, bugs still stumbled, mumbling about light and vomiting orange.

The White Lady pulled Dryya into her chambers one day, confided in her—she had done so before, had trusted her so, had unknowingly made Dryya burn in the process. Her beautiful eyes were clouded with tears, her delicate hands trembling. Dryya held them without thinking, brushed her Lady’s face free of tears.

“I need,” the White Lady said, “to go away. This—what I’ve done—oh, Dryya, if you knew what everything cost, what my Wyrm and I have—“ her voice shook beyond recognition. Dryya tightened her grip. “—oh, you’d be so ashamed. You all would. _I’m_ so ashamed. You would hate me.” She babbled for awhile, and Dryya let her.

“Nothing could ever make me hate you,” Dryya said, her voice dry. She remained resolute as the White Lady looked at her almost _lovingly,_ but no, no, that was far too optimistic, too wishful, stop _dreaming_.

The White Lady hesitated. Her tendrils twitched as she thought. “Dryya, I need—I need to ask something of you.”

“Anything, my queen.” And she meant it. She meant it as they trod through the Fungal Wastes, through Fog Canyon, all the way to her Lady’s gardens. There, in the very heart of it, the White Lady sat, and asked Dryya to tether her, restrain her.

Dryya protested. The White Lady insisted.

“I must repent,” she said, “I must prevent myself from breeding forevermore.”

Saddened, Dryya obeyed. She wrapped the chains around her queen’s body. She hesitated, her hand pausing on one of the White Lady’s glimmering roots. The queen, briefly, rested her own on top of Dryya’s, endlessly smooth bark caressing shell for only a moment. The Knight was spellbound, taken in by the moment—the closest she had ever been to the one she loved—the closest she ever _could_ be. In the trusting blue depths of her queen’s eyes, Dryya’s resolve deepened, the softness under her carapace all the more maddening, the temptation to hold her Lady unbearable, all at the same time.

Dryya hated to step away, hated to slip her fingers out from between the White Lady’s. She wanted to linger there. She could imagine a scenario where her queen felt the same way, where she implored her to run away with her, or to simply stay in this garden forever, just the two of them.

Now that Dryya would never go back to the City of Tears, never see the Pale King again, likely, these thoughts didn’t seem so traitorous.

She swallowed. “My Lady,” Dryya said, bowing, “I will take up my post just outside.”

“Thank you.” The queen’s soft voice echoed behind her. She knew what she had to do now—she took her post just outside of the chamber, of the heart of the Queen’s Gardens. She was to be her Lady’s protector, for as long as the queen needed her services. She had promised all that and more long ago.

Rustling, murmuring, anger.

Dryya stiffened, a protective spark surging in her very core. She drew her nail, stared fiercely into the foliage. She was one of the five great knights of Hallownest, entrusted with guarding her Lady, her Queen, her charge, her _love_. She was ready.

And then the traitors came, surrounding Dryya on every side. The flood never ended. The mantises with orange dripping from their shells overwhelmed her, pinned her to the ground. Their Lord strode up to Dryya, contempt in his feral eyes—the last thing she ever saw before she was cut down.

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW i know i have other fics to update but. angsty bugs.
> 
> Dryya and the White Lady? *chefs kiss* give me them angsty feels. give em to me. But also - white lady isn't. the Best person. moral ambiguity, amirite? consider this au-ish, where the White Lady considers her knights more pawns than friends.
> 
> I'm supposed to be doing way overdue school work but I had the sudden feelsies and I cranked this out in like. an hour or so? I'll probably write something else for this ship because. Man. Anyway, hopefully this is ok as a first HK fanfic?
> 
> The original title of this file was "dryya has a crush on a literal fuckin plant smh"


End file.
